


Heart's a Mess

by purplebass



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebass/pseuds/purplebass
Summary: Alastar tries to help Thomas elaborate Barbara's death.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Kudos: 50
Collections: Thomastair





	Heart's a Mess

Alastair grinned to himself as he walked in the empty hallway of the London Institute. It was Cordelia's wedding day and the reception was still not over, but he needed to take a break from the crowd. Layla was one of the few people in his life who made him smile. See how she glowed in her golden wedding dress had been the height of his life so far. To someone, this could have been exaggerated, but to Alastair, it was everything. Cordelia deserved the best, and he would fight anyone who dared to say otherwise.

 _What about you, though?_ He asked himself, but for the moment, he didn’t have an answer.

As he passed one of the doors, he stopped in his tracks. He hoped he wasn't having auditory hallucinations, but he thought he heard someone crying. It wasn't in Alastair's business to meddle, but felt the need to open that door to check. Perhaps someone needed help, as much as Alastair didn't help just anyone.

He grabbed the golden handle of the oak door and tried not to make any noise in case he wanted to turn his back and leave without letting the person inside realize they had a witness. Luckily for him, the door didn't budge when he pushed it open, nor did it make any creaking sound. The room was dark but for a hint of moonlight illuminating the wooden floor. There was nothing in there but a table in the far distance, far from the light filtering from the glass windows. _The perfect place to hide in case someone didn't want to be bothered_ , Alastair thought.

As he walked in, he noticed that there was a person crying in the empty room. From the voice it was a man. Alastair wished it wasn't someone he didn't know or who had had bad blood with in the past, like Matthew Fairchild for example. The fear that it could have been him disappeared when Alastair’s eyes recognized the figure standing in loneliness in the dark.

Slender, so very tall.

It was Thomas, Alastair realized. And he was crying.

Alastair panicked. Not only because of the shock which came after the realization that Thomas Lightwood was weeping. Thomas, who had always smiled even when guys picked up on him when they were at the Academy. _Thomas. Crying._

"Lightwood, is that you?"

He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. But that was how awkward he was feeling at the moment. He was at loss for words.

Thomas's back hardened. He adjusted his back and sat down on the table properly before he turned his head to glance at the intruder. Alastair noticed there was a flute on the table next too him, and it was half full with golden liquid.

"Alastair. It's... You." Thomas retorted.

Alastair wasn't able to see his eyes in the dark but he thought that they were red rimmed and still wet with tears. He could see the trails of tears on Thomas's cheek.

"Someone was looking for you," he told him, but Thomas was unaware that was a lie. No one had asked for Thomas in all that ruckus, let alone anybody knew that he was in there crying his eyes out.

"Yes, I'm going to head back to the celebration in a few," Thomas murmured, wiping his cheek with his hand. Alastair wasn't sure if it was an automatic gesture or if Thomas didn't want him to see him in such a state.

“Is everything alright?” Alastair asked impulsively. It wasn’t like him to inquire people about their personal life, let alone their mental status. He wasn’t willing to listen to these things, but he wanted to hear about Thomas’.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak but only a sigh came out. “It is not.”

“How come?” he dared to ask. At worst, Thomas would tell him to mind his business and he would leave, but at best…

Thomas rubbed his eyes and moved away from the table. He was about to trip over his own feet but he gripped the table at the last minute. Alastair sauntered to him on instinct, ready to catch Thomas if he would really fall on the wooden floor. His arms remained midair when Thomas righted his body and faced him again, and Alastair could just do the same.

He hoped Thomas hadn’t realized.

“I’m not drunk,” Thomas said, laughing bitterly. “It’s just that all of this is making me think about things which could have been.”

Alastair frowned. “Like what?”

“Do you know that my sister was going to get married last winter?”

“No, I didn’t know,” he told him honestly.

“Her official engagement party should have been last autumn. My mother had organized everything: from the flowers to the table cloths to other things you have during these parties. And Oliver hadn’t proposed to her yet,” Thomas shook his head and laughed, as if this was funny. “And then, the day of the picnic she was bitten. She didn’t stand a chance against poison, and it took her away.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Alastair told him.

Thomas was still looking away, grimacing at the floor. “She asked me to be her _suggenes_ ,” he continued, wiping his hands on his pants in frustration. “But I declined.”

Alastair’s chest tightened. He understood now. “Your sister is not holding that against you,” he replied. It was an honest answer, one he would have wanted to hear if he were in his place. His skin crawled at the possibility, and he shook his head. _Not now._

“You don’t know my sister,” he retorted bitterly, gazing at the only window in the room. “She was always smiling and she was always kind to everyone, but she teased me a lot.”

Alastair raised an eyebrow questioningly. “It seems to me, you’re holding your sister’s death against her,” he told him without mulling over the perfect choice of words as someone else would have had. “You are angry your sister is dead, and you have every right to be. She didn’t deserve to die, but you have to accept she is dead.”

“I’ve never seen it that way,” Thomas whispered to the darkness, still not meeting Alastair’s eyes. “It’s just- “

“You are angry,” declared Alastair, cutting him before he could finish.

“Angry? I am fuming. I’m a volcano about to erupt any moment.”

“Then why aren’t you letting it out?”

At that, Thomas finally turned to face him. He couldn’t read his face because his back was against the small beacon of light invading the room. He wanted to see it, but at the same time, he didn’t because he knew it would hurt him. He never saw Thomas falter like he was doing right then.

“I don’t want to worry my family,” he admitted at least. “My parents are a mess. My mother cries on a daily basis and I often find my sister Eugenia roaming around Barbara’s room, checking her items and smelling her clothes. They miss her.”

“You don’t?” Alastair inquired sternly.

“Of course, I do.”

“Then why aren’t you letting it out?” he asked for the second time, his voice more severe. “I know you want to. I know you need to.”

“You’re presumptuous, Carstairs.”

“Isn’t it true, though? You were crying when I found you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “For her.”

“What is your deal?”

Alastair sighed in frustration. “You said you were fuming, didn’t you? Then throw this table around, yell at me, break that glass. But do something! You are allowed to show you are in pain. You are allowed to grieve for your sister. Don’t let this pain kill you inside, Thomas.”

Thomas stared at him for a long moment, ready to reply to his affirmation, but he didn’t. Instead, he accepted his advice, much to Alastair’s surprise. He recoiled back as Thomas took the still half-full flute and threw it at the furthest wall, then pushed the wooden table upside down with strength and finally, since he didn’t have anything anymore to destroy, he screamed.

Thomas’ voice tore the blackness of the space they were sharing in two. Alastair stared wide eyed as Thomas’ head lulled back as he let out the ear piercing shriek. And then he saw his fists clench, heard his painful gasp, and didn’t flinch when Thomas pounded his fists lightly against his chest.

He wasn’t hurting him. Alastair knew Thomas’ intention wasn’t to harm him. He just needed to let it all out. He waited until his hands relaxed. Then he clutched the lapels of his jacket as he murmured a silent plea, which Alastair didn’t understand because it was muffled by Thomas’ weeping. Next thing he knew, Thomas’ head was on his chest, and a shiver run through him at his proximity. They had never been so close, but this wasn’t the moment to think about this yet. Now it was all about Thomas.

After some time, Thomas raised his head. “Thank you,” he murmured. The dark still not let him see his expression, but he thought there may be a hint of a smile on Thomas’ face. Hopefully.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You are wrong,” Thomas replied, but he left the room before he could answer.

He left him with the mess he had created, and Alastair could just touch the damp spot on his jacket where Thomas’ tears still lingered, and sigh.


End file.
